by Peter Green
Alcibiades watched his shadow on the wall, grotesquely elongated in the light of the single lamp. ‘I shall remember what you have told me,’ he said. ‘That was not what I came to you for. Nor did I come to plead for reconciliation.’ He stood over Pericles and said in a clear voice: ‘I know you are dying. That is why you must act, now, before it is too late.’ He rapidly laid bare the schemes of both Cleon and Axiochus. ‘If you abdicate now, the power you had will be lost for ever. Athens will destroy herself with her own feuds. Only you can preserve her unity. It doesn’t matter how ill you are. It doesn’t matter if the strain of action shortens your life. You have only three or four months left to you in any case. Are you going to undo your work now? If you refuse office, all will be lost. If you accept, success is still uncertain: but at least we shall have a chance. You have made a demand on me in the name of our country. When the time comes I shall fulfil that demand. I ask only the same of you.’
There was a short silence. Then Pericles said: ‘You speak with the voice of justice. It is that voice I am answering, not you. I shall accept office again.’ Shaking, he rose to his feet. ‘We have never understood one another, and now it is too late to try. It is possible that I have not done my duty by you as your guardian. If I have not, the Gods will see to it. It is too late for me to search my heart. If you wish to see me in the future in my official capacity, I shall be at your disposal. More than that I cannot say to you, now or ever. Good-night. You may tell Hagnon and Nicias that I shall go to the Council tomorrow, whatever my personal health.’
For a moment the two men stood looking at one another. An almost imperceptible gleam of unwilling mutual admiration flickered on their faces. Then Alcibiades drew himself up to attention, saluted formally, and went out. Pericles heard his horse’s hooves fading away down the hill. He sank back on to the couch, shivering.
• • • • •
The crowd cheered Pericles all the way from his house to the Assembly. He was pale but erect, his eyes fixed unwaveringly in front of him, the spring sunshine glinting on his helmet. In a few brief words he thanked them for their decision, and renewed the promises he had made—so long ago, it seemed—for the prosecution of the war, and the protection of the people. As the familiar voice rang out in all its old firmness, unshaken by the illness that was now common knowledge, the emotion of his audience nearly reached breaking-point.
When he came to the end of his speech, Pericles paused and said in a different voice: ‘There are those among you who saw me follow my son’s funeral a month ago. I do not weep easily; even less easily do I ask favours. I ask a favour of you now. If I have ever deserved well of you, let my only surviving son Pericles be admitted a citizen of Athens. Revoke in this one instance the law I myself made. I wish for little for myself: I beg this as a favour to a dying man, that his line may not be for ever destroyed.’ He bowed his head and stepped down from the rostrum in complete silence. It was only when he had passed out of the Assembly that the spell was broken and wave upon wave of cheering rang round the hillside. All the doubts and resentments, the black despair of the last months were wiped away in an instant in this tumultuous demonstration of affection.
Out at sea a squadron of galleys rode proudly in from escort duty, flecks of foam flying from their oar-blades, their sails bellying white in the sunlight. Athens was still mistress of the seas. The old spirit seemed to have been miraculously reborn in, the bruised city.
• • • • •
During that blazing summer the fortunes of war fluctuated. The worst of the plague was over, though deaths were still frequent: Athens’ morale at least was restored. With the coming of spring the watchers on the walls waited for signs of the. Spartan army. Spies reported that Archidamus was moving through the Megarid; but when he crossed the border, instead of following the eastern road into Attica, he turned north to the beleaguered but still loyal town of Plataea.
The messenger who brought the news found Pericles closeted with Alcibiades arguing over finances. He gave his account of the situation briefly, and begged for help.
Pericles and Alcibiades whispered for a moment: then Pericles said: ‘Go back and tell your people that Athens has never yet abandoned Plataea to an enemy, and will not do so now. Tell them to stand by the oaths they swore, and to continue to hold the town.’ In a less formal voice he added: ‘I will see that you are entertained for the duration of your stay here. We will send you help as soon as is possible.’
The envoy saluted. ‘This is heartening news,’ he said. ‘It has not been an easy struggle. I will be glad to carry your message.’
When he had gone out Alcibiades said: ‘Plataea is a godsend. As long as it holds out—and I don’t see why that shouldn’t be as long as Potidaea—a Spartan army’ll be tied up under its walls. Archidamus hasn’t got so many troops to spare. With any luck he won’t be able to raid Attica at all—at any rate this year. The people are in an uncertain mood still. If their fields are spared and they have a victory, it might make all the difference.’
‘But we have to stand by our word. We must send a relief force to Plataea.’
Alcibiades’ eyes gleamed coldly. ‘We have to win a war, you mean,’ he said. ‘What use is Plataea to us if we save her? It isn’t as if we had the men to spare. You know that. And we’re desperately short of money to fight on more than one front. Leave them. They’ll hold out as long as they can in self-defence. And they’ll provide an invaluable diversion without involving us in any extra expense or loss ourselves.’
Pericles looked troubled. He said: ‘This is not honourable behaviour. I will have no part in it.’
‘What alternative do you propose? Will you kill us for your honour? I’m not suggesting that you do anything. Only that you don’t take a step which will almost certainly prove disastrous. Besides, you can’t send troops where there are none to send.’
‘But we have troops—’
Which can be put to better use. Listen. There are still two thousand men holding the country round Potidaea. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to win over the Thracians. Take advantage of it. They could raise an enormous army if they were properly handled. We can’t afford to trust Perdiccas any longer. Send Hagnon to Thrace to see how the land lies. He knows the country, and he’s a good diplomat. If he meets with a favourable reception, we can send out another fleet and army in token of good faith.’
‘And then, I suppose, leave the Thracians to do the fighting.’
Alcibiades grinned. ‘Why not? We’ve got Potidaea. If this new attack came off, we’d be masters of the entire north-east. And quite apart from that, the value in prestige would be enormous. There’s hardly anything to lose, and everything to gain.’
Pericles sighed and said: ‘It’s a risky plan. You’re young, Alcibiades, and you’ve got the rashness of youth. But I think it might be successful. And as you say, the effect here would be excellent.’ He coughed, and wiped his mouth. ‘I’ll see Hagnon.’
‘If I might suggest it, as soon as possible. And one thing more. The Spartans have been far too active in the Corinthian Gulf lately. Don’t you agree?’
Pericles passed a hand wearily over his head and pointed to a pile of papers on the table. ‘I’ve been hearing of nothing else since I came back,’ he said. But what can we do? We’ve got to keep every ship available to police the eastern trade-routes.’
‘Could you spare twenty or thirty?’
‘I suppose so. But what use would that be?’
‘Under a good admiral with naval tactics at his fingertips, a great deal. Send Phormio to Naupactus. He can watch what’s going on from there. He needn’t get involved in a battle. His reports would be invaluable.’
With unwilling admiration, Pericles said: ‘One of these days you’ll make a fine general.’
‘I hope so. Will you do it?’
‘If the Assembly will agree. But I’m still worried about Plataea. I pledged my word. Does that mean nothing to you?’
Alcibiades quoted
: My tongue has sworn . . .’
‘My mind remains unsworn. Euripides is a pernicious man. If I had my way his plays would be suppressed.’
‘Euripides has a nasty knack of telling unpleasant truths.’
‘I won’t argue with you. I am no longer your guardian.’ Pericles rose. Still coughing, he bowed the young man out. Walking alone in the morning air, Alcibiades, unwillingly, began to think, in a detached fashion, about Nicias.
• • • • •
When King Archidamus heard the answer that the Plataean envoy brought from Athens he shut himself in his tent for several hours, and no one was permitted near him. At the end of that time he came out and summoned his staff captains. Then he made a public declaration to the gods, in the presence of the whole army, that he had not come to Plataea as an aggressor and had not invaded Plataean territory until the Plataeans themselves had broken their oath. The ranks of dark-faced warriors stamped in impatience as he went on, their eyes on the walls of the tiny town that lay in front of them. ‘Grant,’ cried Archidamus, ‘that those who first offended may be punished, and that those who have justice on their side may inflict it with righteousness.’ The scarred officers at the ends of the columns looked at one another and winked grimly.
When he had thus salved his conscience, Archidamus set his army to work. He did not give them the chance to make the direct assault they longed for; even now he seemed bent on procrastination. Painfully and with infinite care, he set about the business of a siege. For weeks the battle of wits went on. The Spartans at last brought up battering rams, and succeeded in shaking down one of the towers on the wall; the Plataeans retaliated with a great beam suspended on chains, which they dropped on the rams where they could, snapping their heads off.
After several such unsuccessful attempts Archidamus gave up his plans for breaking into Plataea, and settled down to starve the inhabitants out. He left half his troops to man the fortifications, supported by his Boeotian allies. From the walls the tiny garrison, four hundred and eighty strong, saw the other half of the Spartan army moving off westward back to the Megarid. Every day they strained their eyes to the south-east, waiting for the relieving column from Athens which never came. All that met their tired eyes as the summer wore on was the ring of troops relentlessly waiting, silent and watchful, while the food supplies ran out, and men in the beleaguered streets whispered of betrayal.
• • • • •
Athens was taut and expectant, waiting for news. The Assembly met seldom, and when it did, discussed nothing but trivial domestic affairs. Every ship docking in the Piraeus was boarded by nervous men questioning the crew. The plague had by now almost died away; but there was a new fever to take its place. Cleon and Lysicles still met in secret. Nicias spent much of his time at the offices of the Council, taking most of Pericles’ routine work off his shoulders, glad to occupy his mind with the absorbing trivia of administration. Pericles himself could do little but wait, the sickness spreading slowly through his bones, prey to a devouring melancholy. Alcibiades fretted with impatience, watching the horizon for every sail, passing his evenings with Axiochus in deep and persistent drinking.
The tension was broken by a major disaster. The generals left in command at Potidaea, rendered over-confident by the fall of the city, ventured on a large-scale raid to the north of the peninsula. Out-manoeuvred and out-fought they lost over four hundred men and all three of their generals; and the subordinate commanders, rather than attempt to hold an impossible position, evacuated the entire peninsula and brought their battered troops shamefacedly back to Athens.
News of this setback reached Hagnon while he was engaged in a highly tricky series of conferences in Thrace. The Thracian King, as he had predicted, was in an awkward mood. This vast army had overrun a good deal of Macedonia; and when he saw, not only an envoy without force to back him, but a badly defeated army about to embark for home, he broke off negotiations without a word of explanation. Hagnon, furious but impotent, watched the Thracian troops marching away northwards. With them went all hope of a quick victory. Athens had lost in a few days almost all she had taken three years to win. Her credit with Thrace and Macedon was destroyed: instead of a new ally she now had two potential enemies to cripple her vital corn-route to the Bosphorus. All this Hagnon, returning a few days after the beaten army, reported to a silent Assembly.
When encouragement did come, it was from ail unexpected quarter. A brief dispatch from Phormio brought the news. Sparta, as Alcibiades had anticipated, had sent a strong force to the north-west, apparently with the intention of taking Naupactus and thus destroying Athens’ last stronghold in the Corinthian Gulf. The Spartan admiral had been totally defeated; Phormio, with brilliant seamanship, had caught his supply vessels unawares, destroyed twelve of them, and put paid to the entire expedition with very little loss to himself. But the smaller victory, as Pericles remarked, was overshadowed by the greater disaster.
• • • • •
King Pausanias received the news of this naval defeat with anger amounting to almost incredulity. He conferred with the Ephor Sthenelaidas. After lengthy discussion they summoned three of their best younger commanders: Timocrates, Lycophron, and Brasidas, who had commanded the force that routed Pericles’ expedition to Epidaurus two years before. The meeting was held in secret.
The King greeted them brusquely. He was pacing up and down the room while he spoke. ‘Quite clearly there has been gross negligence,’ he said. The Ephor nodded his head in agreement. ‘We are vastly superior to Athens in all military qualities. In this particular engagement we outnumbered the enemy four to one. How did it come about that we were defeated?’
It was clearly a rhetorical question; but Brasidas, somewhat unexpectedly, answered it. He was a stocky, well-built man of about forty, with protuberant hazel eyes and an intelligent, mobile face that belied his nationality. ‘That’s perfectly simple,’ he said. ‘You spoke just now of our military supremacy. There I agree with you. Naval tactics are quite a different thing. We ought to admit that we know comparatively little about them. We are not a sea-going nation. I have read the account of the battle. I do not believe there has been any dereliction of duty in the sense which you imply. Our fleet was outmanoeuvred by an enemy to whom sea-fighting is second nature. It would be better if we took lessons from the Athenians instead of blaming our own commanders for what they are not competent to avoid.’
This blunt speech provoked the Xing to a remarkable degree of rage. His face congested; he choked and swore, and when he finally found his voice, indulged in a long and fiery diatribe on the Spartan fighting tradition. Brasidas listened patiently. After it had reached its climax, he said: ‘Very well. What do you wish us to do?’
Sthenelaidas answered. ‘You will be sent to join the fleet as commissioners and advisers. You are empowered to take any disciplinary steps you see fit to as a result of your investigations. You will further supervise the collection of as many ships as can be mustered from the allied states on the spot. The fleet must have its strength built up. You will have a land army sent north to support you. It is essential that the decisive battle should be fought in the narrows of the Crissaean straits where troops may be of assistance to you. After destroying Phormio you will take and fortify Naupactus. Is that quite clear?’
‘Perfectly,’ said Brasidas. ‘We are to leave at once?’
‘Of course. Take the road through Arcadia and Achaea, and join the fleet with all speed. Do not fail in your duty.’
Outside Brasidas sighed and said: ‘It looks so beautifully easy in theory. I’d like to have that damned Ephor with us on this campaign. It might teach him something.’
His companions looked both shocked and scared. Timocrates said: ‘You should watch your tongue, Brasidas. One victory doesn’t guarantee you immunity against the authority of the State.’
‘It will till I’m badly beaten. I’ll admit I don’t like this assignment at all. We’re fighting in our wrong element. All this talk of
a supporting land force is nonsense. Phormio will fight where he likes. He has the initiative the whole time. We’ll just have to learn by our mistakes. And by the way,’ he added, ‘as far as I’m concerned there’s going to be no nonsense about police reports on the commanders. We’re short enough of good generals as it is. I’ve no intention of ruining the morale of our troops in the Gulf simply to provide a victim for the Ephors. It’s about time they learnt that we’re not invincible, and that if we want victories we’ve got to use our brains.’
His two companions looked at each other doubtfully.
• • • • •
As the weeks went by Pericles’ strength steadily ebbed away. There was nothing violent about his symptoms: rather a slow draining of energy and will-power, a dissipation of the intellect, a weakening and wasting of the body. He coughed ceaselessly, and began to have frequent bouts of vomiting. His mind was clouded with melancholy, and he became a prey to agonising fits of remorse and despair. He went seldom to the Assembly: but when he did, however great the effort, he walked. Much of the business he would normally have transacted in the Council Chambers he now had sent to his house, where he lay for hour after hour on a day-bed, shivering, wrapped in furs even in the warm September midday. Much remained unread; much he delegated to his subordinates. When he had to take a decision himself it cost him untold effort.
All the time Aspasia cared for him, managed his estate, bullied the slaves, argued with his steward and supervised the running of the household. In political affairs she now never intruded; she made no attempt to alleviate the agony of mind through which this man with whom she had lived for nearly twenty years was passing. They seldom exchanged a word. An insuperable barrier had sprung up between them, built from failure and distrust and despair; aggravated by betrayal, sealed by resignation. The crumbling of Pericles’ proud ideals, the ravages and human suffering the plague had brought, and which he had failed to comprehend, the forbidden desire which still raged in her bones had all combined to destroy the noble image round which her life had for so long revolved.